Dear Carmelo Anthony,
I know you use that smirk to deflect your own insecurities about your skills, or lack-thereof, on the basketball court. I know this because I went to high school.
It’s been a trying season for you, Carmelo. With your perpetually pulled groin, endless stream of aphorisms to the media about defense and offensive cohesion to deflect attention away from your stubborn isolation plays during the D’Antoni reign, and stunning refusal to frown when you mess up, its been hard to argue in your favor to other Knicks and Syracuse fans that ask me what’s up with you.
So why do I keep coming back, and defending you to strangers and friends alike?
Your jumper is a thing of perfection, and I’ve seen you go toe to toe with ‘Bron and beat him, straight up. You were the best player on that 2008 Olympic team before everyone looked for Kobe to be Kobe against Spain.
You brought me my only fully joyous moment as a hometown fan when you led Syracuse to an NCAA title in college (I grew up in Rochester, but still).
I thought your dramatic turn in the bootleg Baltimore classic Snitches Get Stitches possessed a level of nuance normally only found in a production like The Artist(iste).
Your marriage to La La Vasquez seems like a natural fit, since you can both blaze in the limo on the way to some BET awards show. Also, rocking sunglasses to cover blurry eyes is OK at a BET awards show (the only other place it’s OK is at LES bar, Donnybrook, on a Friday night when you’re trying to “score chicks mang”)
I have taken all the crap that’s out there about you Carmelo, and I don’t care.
What I do care about is that YOU CARE!
In 40 minutes of action last night, you looked like the Melo of popular lore, but in the end, you reverted back to that which I despise.
You were 17/31 last night and dropped 39 points on the Pacers, but—and there’s always a but with you—you missed two 25-footers with under a minute to play and the Knicks lost.
Danny Granger, ostensibly the small forward you’d be match-up against, had 27 points on almost half as many shots. Paul George also had 18. But neither of those guys really matter in terms of your own performance.
If you had ended with 45 points, and converted those 2 3-pointers inside of a minute, then you’d be the hero and probably put on your placid countenance to affirm your nonchalance in the face of your own greatness. Instead, you missed those 2 3’s and laughed or smirked or giggled your way into the dark place of my heart normally reserved for Derrick Coleman and Billy Owens.
Stop with the smirk man. We all know its a mask, and an unflattering one at that.
When does Jeremy get back?
I personally like this smirk. It’s a common attitude New Yorkers have.